


Before I Embark

by todisturbtheuniverse



Series: Tongues Will Wag [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Birthday, F/F, Family Issues, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 15:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: Leandra's relationship with her daughter has been nothing short of strained since leaving Lothering. Now, though, she is attempting to make amends. A loose follow-up toA Shadow, Passing Through. Set mid-Act 2.





	Before I Embark

After discovering Marian's involvement with her pirate girl, Leandra put a stop to the intimate little dinner parties scheduled with nobles and merchants, the ones that were meant to help her daughter meet someone. Marian had already  _ met  _ someone. Someone with a certain lawlessness and lack of respectability, to be sure, but Malcolm had not exactly been a model citizen.

"You're sure you don't need me for anything?" Marian asked from the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded across her chest. "No fancy soirée tonight? No party in the courtyard?"

"No," Leandra said, smiling slightly, from where she was shaping a pie crust—even though this was a lie, and she had turned down an invitation to a dinner party on Marian's behalf. "No social events for you to endure. You should go, see your friends."

"This may come as a surprise, but seeing my friends is its own act of endurance." Marian paused, but then she moved into the kitchen, coming to stand at Leandra's side instead. "If you'd like me to go to anything, I will," she said, pitching her voice low so that Bodahn, passing by in the hallway, wouldn't overhear. "I can keep up appearances just as I've been—"

"Keep up appearances? With the same people who gossiped about my running away with your father for thirty years, barring better scandal?" Leandra chuckled at that, and Marian actually smiled. Not the smirk, which she wore nearly at all times, but a quiet, genuine sort of smile. It made her look quite young again. It still came as a shock to Leandra that her oldest child was nearly thirty, in the same way that her own gray hair still surprised her as she passed by a mirror.

"Well, it does sound like a juicy morsel," Marian agreed. "If you're sure…it's not as if my dining with the locals will upset her."

Leandra glanced sideways at her daughter. This expression, too, made Marian look very young. Better for her to be pining after this supposedly unrequited love than worrying about crime in Kirkwall, in Leandra's opinion. But then, just as quickly, she realized she was being looked at, and her usual expression—a certain thoughtlessness, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth—returned.

Leandra had seen more glimpses of the daughter she remembered—the daughter who had gone away to Ostagar and not come back—in these last few weeks than she had in the last several years. They had tiptoed around one another since buying back the estate, maintained a polite sort of friendliness but nothing deeper.

What a waste. Leandra hated that she had allowed it to go on—that in the end, she had been no better than her own parents. The details were different, but the outcome looked painfully similar.

"Nothing upsets your pirate girl," Leandra said, though she could remember one occasion when this had been untrue. It had—unsurprisingly—involved Marian. "But I  _ am  _ sure. We've attended—and hosted—plenty of parties. Consider yourself indefinitely freed."

Marian leaned over and kissed Leandra's cheek. "I'll stop testing my luck, then. I'll be at The Hanged Man." She plucked a cherry out of the pile designated for the pie—Leandra swatted at it—and sauntered away, chuckling under her breath.

Leandra returned to the pie crust, thinking. Marian's birthday was coming up, just about a month away. They hadn't celebrated, these past few years. Marian had made a point not to, always making sure to be away on some job for both the day itself and the days surrounding it. But to Leandra, it seemed, there was something to celebrate this year. With the life that they'd led since leaving Ferelden, it was something akin to a miracle that Marian had made it to thirty. With all they'd lost…even more important to hold tight to what they had.

As a little girl, she'd wanted a party, when she had still been too young to understand. They had never been able to risk such a thing; they had never made more than passing acquaintances in the towns they'd lived in, those first tumultuous years. She'd never really had friends. Before she'd turned ten, she had stopped asking.

But she had friends now. Plenty of them, even if they required some…endurance. And they came to the parties, sometimes, but none of them were very comfortable there, among the upper crust of Kirkwall.

An idea began to form, small but genuine, as Leandra finished assembling the pie.

 

The next time that Marian left for a job, taking Isabela, Merrill, and Fenris with her, Leandra walked the stairs to Lowtown.

She returned to this place often enough. She had made some few friends while she had lived in Gamlen's house, and they were more comfortable remaining in Lowtown than coming to visit her in Hightown. This had not come as a surprise to her; she'd learned, those first few years with Malcolm, that every class of people had a particular kind of pride, not just the noble ones.

She dressed down for the occasion, though, donning a plain dress and keeping her small purse out of sight. Many of the merchants in the bazaar waved to her or called out a greeting; she knew that, far from being particularly fond of  _ her _ , they had an affection for her daughter, who still put in a great deal of work keeping their streets safe at night. Her heart filled with pride.

There was not much of a crowd at The Hanged Man at mid-afternoon, but those who  _ were  _ present raised a glass to her or gave a nod. Marian's influence, again. The barman—Corff, Marian had called him—called out to her.

"Can I help you, Messere Hawke?"

"Please," she said, skirting the tables toward him, "it's just Leandra. I'm looking for Serah Tethras?"

"Up the stairs and straight ahead," Corff said, pointing. "You can't miss it."

"My thanks," she said, nodding, and made for the stairs.

All of Marian's friends were quite sharp—they had to be, she supposed, for the kinds of adventures and trouble they attracted—so she was not surprised that the dwarf she was looking for stood just inside the door, waiting for her.

"Messere," he greeted her genially. "What brings you to The Hanged Man? Should I send for drinks?" He gestured to a seat—clearly one of the chairs he kept for the humans he frequently entertained. Lowering his voice, he added, "I have my own reserve, if you'd prefer."

"I…yes, that would be fine. Please, as I've said before—call me Leandra."

He smiled, plenty warmly, and took a bottle down from the shelf. "Leandra, then. What can I help you with?"

She had a resentment for this dwarf. After all, if not for his expedition, Bethany might still have been safe at home, not off with the Grey Wardens…but without his expedition, she was not sure the estate would ever have been returned to them. He was charming, certainly, and one of Marian's closest confidantes, if she understood correctly, but she did not know that she would ever be able to  _ like  _ him.

And it didn't matter. He was Marian's friend, Marian's very good friend, it appeared; that would serve, for now.

"I don't know if you knew this, but Marian—Hawke," she clarified, "is turning thirty next month."

Momentarily, his eyes gleamed; he finished pouring her drink and handed her the glass. 

"I didn't know," he said, though there was a delighted undertone to his voice, as if she had just given him a handsome present. She tried not to second-guess her plan just because of this. "She likes to buy us all a round on our birthdays—those of us who remember, of course, and those of us who don't, she assigns an arbitrary day—but she's been awfully quiet about her own. Couldn't ever get it out of Bethany, even."

Leandra's heart hurt, at that, because of course Bethany knew—of course she had always given Marian some small token, maybe a pretty rock she'd found when they were children, or maybe a bit of ribbon she'd painstakingly saved for—but she wouldn't go against Marian's wishes and reveal anything. Of course not.  _ Was  _ this a good plan?

She steeled herself. She had to do  _ something _ , and this was what she could do. She didn't think it could make things worse, at least.

"Well," Leandra said, smoothing her skirt, "you know that I host parties at the estate, now and then."

"Always lovely," he said. He was a better liar than Marian; she almost believed him.

"She's always put in appearances when I've asked, but…I'd like this party to be for her. All of her friends. And I need your help, or I know she'll disappear from the city for the week, as she always does."

Varric rubbed his hands together, outright smiling now. "This, I'd be delighted to help with. Jobs usually come through me before they go to her. I can keep her calendar clear for the day." He winked, his gold adornments glittering. "Need help with the invitation list? Hawke's got a lot of friends."

"Yes," Leandra said, and though it was hesitant, she smiled, too. "I've heard she does. There's…one other matter." He nodded for her to go on. "When we returned to the estate, there were some things missing. I don't care for most of them, but there's one item…I'm sure it must have been sold, perhaps by my brother, but I'd like to find it, if I could. As a surprise, for her."

Varric got out a pen. "If it can be found, I'll find it. Describe it, and I'll see what I can do."

 

A few days later, as Leandra browsed the Hightown markets for some suitable new fabric, she spotted her daughter, offloading what looked like an entire sack of swords, shields, and bows on the weapons merchant. Isabela was with her, munching contentedly on what looked like a small savory pie—probably bought fresh from the vendor down the street.

Marian folded up the empty sack, shook hands with the merchant, and tucked her new gold away in her coinpurse. "We do pick up so much  _ stuff _ ," she said forlornly, slinging the sack over her shoulder.

"Some real good things in that bit, though. Thanks for the new dagger." Isabela patted the hilt fondly with her free hand. "It's going to carve right through some—oh! Hello, Leandra!"

Marian's head turned. They were only perhaps a dozen feet apart, but until Isabela's greeting, Marian hadn't noticed her. A fleeting look of discomfort crossed her face—no doubt remembering the last time Isabela and Leandra had been in the same room—but then it faded, replaced with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Mother!" she called, waving too. "What are you up to?" 

Leandra closed the gap between them, making sure that her purchases so far were tucked out of sight in her basket. "Oh, just looking for some linens; I thought I might embroider a new tablecloth."

At this, Marian's embarrassed smile turned fond, which was its own kind of gift. "You've embroidered three in the last year; are you sure we don't need more napkins, instead?"

"There will be napkins to match," Leandra said primly while Isabela chuckled. "And this will be the last one I do for a while, young lady, so make your requests or hold your piece."

For a moment, Leandra thought that Marian would wave her off, tell her to pick what she liked, as she had the last three times; but this time, Marian's eyes caught on Isabela, who was too busy calling out to Merrill to notice. She was looking at Isabela's faded blue bandana, at the gold thread that still winked in the embroidery.

Marian didn't often remind Leandra of Malcolm, but in these moments, it was like his ghost passed through her. Leandra had known that look—known it well.

"Blue," Marian said. "You know, I think I'd like blue."

"And gold embroidery?" Leandra suggested knowingly.

The dreaminess in Marian's eyes evaporated; she cast Leandra a warning look, but Isabela hadn't noticed. 

"Blue?" she cut in. "But Hawke, you like everything  _ red _ . It's sort of everywhere. And you look dashing in it," she added hastily, when Marian raised an eyebrow at her.

"Nothing wrong with a little variety," Marian said. "Only if you can find it, Mother."

"I'm certain that somewhere in Hightown, someone sells blue linens." She patted her daughter on the cheek, made a note of the pattern in Isabela's bandana, and said, "I'll leave you to your bartering."

"It's her  _ favorite  _ thing," Isabela said, with an air of deep suffering. "You wouldn't believe how she wheedles. It can take all morning."

"You  _ volunteered _ to come along."

"I knew you would buy me a pie if I did."

"That's all I am to you," Marian said, but fondly, with a smile. "A pie dispenser."

"Well," Isabela allowed. "There are other things." She looked about to throw a wink in with it, realized that Leandra was still standing there, and covered the salacious pause very well. "Like daggers." She patted the hilt again.

Leandra shook her head, waved goodbye to the girls, and moved along to the next market square. Perhaps she didn't see it yet, but Isabela was  _ just  _ the match for Marian. The same quick wit, the same humor, the same skill. They would keep one another on their toes for decades, if they would just put aside their caution for a moment.

The party, she hoped, would help.

 

Over the next few weeks, Leandra planned. She organized a caterer, someone who didn't typically serve Hightown nobles but would certainly serve the kind of hearty food her daughter would want to eat. She unearthed the tattered recipe book she'd kept during their years in Ferelden, marking the things that Marian had liked best and had been allowed to eat rarely. She found an old, weathered cake recipe; she'd made it once, for a birthday long ago, a little girl turning three instead of thirty. This part, she would do herself.

She only wished she had other coin to draw from to pay for it. She'd learned from Varric that Marian did not keep a very close eye on their accounts, preferring to pull from the small funds she reaped by selling castoffs to merchants. The discretionary fund which Leandra had access to was a piddling fraction of their family's wealth, but it still felt a bit wrong, to be throwing a party for Marian that Marian was also unknowingly paying for.

"Trust me, you're doing her a favor," Varric told Leandra. "She never spends a bit on herself, unless it's that swill Corff ferments."

She hired the usual dressmaker, showed the woman the design she'd decided on, and passed over the materials she'd collected. She had the downstairs rooms well-cleaned. She wrote out the invitations, choosing days that Marian was expected to be gone for some hours to do so. Varric took care of the delivery of them; there was one, however, that she planned to deliver herself, in person, and she had to wait for just the right time to do it.

The opportunity came, just two weeks before the planned party. Marian had business at the docks, Varric's messenger told her, and she hadn't taken Isabela along with. Leandra put on her Lowtown dress and returned to The Hanged Man, finding the room she wanted this time without direction.

For a moment, after her knock, she feared that Isabela wasn't in; then came the stamping of booted feet, a heavy sigh, and the door opened. "This had better be—" Isabela began, but cut herself off immediately. "Leandra. Fancy seeing you here."

"I won't keep you long." She held out the envelope.

Isabela turned it over in her hands; she looked a touch wary. "What's this?"

"An invitation, to a party for Marian. Her birthday is in two weeks."

"That sneak," she said, beginning to smile now. "She never said."

"It won't be like the other parties you haven't come to—or, rather, the parties you've come to about halfway through, then taking Marian out the window with you." Isabela only smiled wider at this, unembarrassed, and Leandra pressed on. "I think it would make her very happy if you came."

This, of all things, made Isabela's smile falter. "Oh?" she asked, in a vaguely interested tone of voice. "What makes you think that?"

Leandra shrugged. She did not want to push this too heavily. Marian didn't talk very much of Isabela, but Leandra understood, from the things she did know, that she was as apt to sail out of Kirkwall every morning as she was to stay in bed late.

"I know that you're close friends, that's all," she said. "She's very fond of you. I'm sure you know."

Plenty of her daughter's friends were accomplished liars, but briefly, Isabela looked just as young as Marian had in the kitchen that night: unsure, and worried, and a little longing, too.

"I'm not so fond of nobles," she hedged.

"Then you're in luck. This party will be strictly noble-free. Aside from Marian, I suppose."

"Well." Leandra thought she was considering it, at least. "All right, then. I take it this is some sort of surprise?"

"Yes," Leandra said, stepping back. "All the details are in the invitation."

"Well," Isabela said, and eyed her, a little curiously. "Thank you."

Leandra departed in high spirits. Everything was going just according to plan.

 

It was a rush, those last two weeks, getting everything together—and under Marian's nose. She had never been particularly interested in the affairs of the house, but she'd been making a point to be home for dinner more often recently, and that left Leandra with less time.

She didn't mind. She and Marian had talked to one another very little over the last several years, very superficially; she felt as if she was beginning to know her daughter again, however slowly. She was grateful.

Varric hadn't sent any word about the gift, only a message about a week prior:  _ Found the item. Working on getting the owner to part with it.  _ Everything else, however, had come together: the kitchen and larder stocked with supplies, the dressmaker delivering exactly what Leandra had ordered, the invitations returning—formally or informally—marked  _ yes _ . These went through Varric, so that Hawke would not spot them and get wind of what they were planning.

The morning of the party, Leandra set to work on the cake. Varric had arranged it so that Hawke had a business meeting for several hours; she would be sufficiently occupied. Still, Leandra worked as quickly as possible, and had only completed the confection and covered it with the cake dome when the front door creaked.

"Maker," Marian's voice echoed from the foyer. "I've never seen such fine print in my life." She raised her voice. "Mother? Are you home?"

Leandra bustled out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "How did the meeting go?"

Marian was working on the buckles of her boots. "Well, no one got stabbed. I suppose that means well?"

Leandra shook her head—Marian's sense of humor still left something to be desired, at times—and moved forward to help with the many buckles dotting the dark leather cuirass. "Is that why you wore full armor? For fear that you'd be stabbed?"

"This is Kirkwall," Marian said, a touch grimly. "Sometimes Varric says, 'business meeting,' and it turns out to be, you know, the usual violence. I swear, this city is diseased. Besides, if it  _ does  _ turn out to just be paperwork, they take you more seriously in full armor." She shot a grin over her shoulder. "Thanks."

"I do hope you're being careful."

Marian made a bit of a face. "Well, as careful as I can be, anyway."

Leandra lifted the cuirass away and passed it off to Bodahn. "Why don't you go and clean up? I'll have lunch ready in a bit."

"Excellent," Marian said. "I'll wash behind the ears. I've heard carelessness gets stuck there."

Leandra shook her head, smiling, as Marian wandered off up the stairs, then caught Bodahn as he re-entered the room. "Any more word from Varric?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Bodahn looked about as disappointed as she felt. "No, messere. But there's time yet."

And it wasn't the most important thing, Leandra assured herself, even though her heart told her otherwise.

 

They had a light lunch together in the kitchen. The cake dome was safely hidden, but Marian kept looking around, frowning slightly.

"Something wrong, dear?" Leandra asked.

Marian shook her head, a little bemused. "Would you believe me if I said I have  _ nothing  _ to do this afternoon? Or tonight. Or tomorrow. Varric insists there hasn't been a new job, but I can't remember the last time I had this kind of gap. I thought maybe…" She shrugged. "I don't know what I thought. It's just odd."

"Maybe you should enjoy the time off," Leandra suggested, though her palms were sweating a little. She wanted to pull off the surprise, and Marian was too clever for her own good. "Relax a little."

"You're right," Marian sighed. "I haven't gotten to read any of that book you lent to me; maybe I'll do that for a little while. Or maybe you'd like to play a game?"

She actually looked hopeful, too, like a child asking their parent to save them from their own boredom. Leandra laughed.

"What's the game you and your friends love so much? Wicked Grace?"

"Do you know how to play?"

"I used to. You might have to help me with the rules at first."

"Easy," Marian declared. "I'll get the cards."

They passed an hour or so like that, but Marian eventually wandered off to read, and good thing; not long after she'd vanished upstairs, the caterer and her assistants arrived, ready to set to work. And still, no word had come from Varric.

Leandra supervised the caterer for most of the prep work, double-checked the cake, and then—just when she was about to go upstairs and coax Marian into getting ready—an out-of-breath messenger arrived. Bodahn let him into the foyer.

"From Varric Tethras," he said, between great lungfuls of air. The boy was maybe thirteen. "For Leandra Hawke. I ran as fast as I could—"

Leandra had Bodahn get him some water, and unwrapped the package. The necklace was just as she remembered: pearls strung between a delicate, silvery chain, small and perfectly shaped.

She'd reached the top of the stairs when Marian came out of her room, frowning. "I thought I heard someone shouting," she said. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's perfectly fine," Leandra said, "but I have a surprise for you. Wait in your room a moment?"

Still frowning, obviously puzzled, Marian returned to her room. Leandra evicted the dress from the closet it had been hiding in and followed.

As soon as Marian caught sight of the thing, she frowned even more deeply. "Ah," she said, in a voice that tried very hard to be even. "Is the surprise a party?"

"Yes, but not how you think." Leandra laid the dress out over the bed. She was nervous, she realized, afraid that the thing that she had tried to do would not make Marian very happy, the way she had worried on and off for the past several weeks. Maybe she really would prefer to forget her birthday. Maybe—

Marian had come up alongside her to look at the dress. "It doesn't look very…pinchy. Not that I don't like the other ones. Just, whatever Isabela says, corsets are not right for me."

Leandra laughed. "I know. And neither are those parties I've been hosting these last few years. This will be entirely different, I promise."

"All right," Marian said, a little slowly. "How?"

"Well, it's for your birthday, to begin with."

"But it's not my…" Marian trailed off, frowning; she spun on her heel and strode over to her desk, bending over her calendar. 

After a moment's long pause, she said, "Ah. So it is."

She'd forgotten. There was something worse about that, something awful and heartbreaking, that Leandra didn't want to look too closely at—that she had gone so long telling herself not to ask that even she had forgotten the date's significance. Leandra swallowed over the lump in her throat.

"I thought you might like to celebrate with your friends," she offered, her voice a little small.

Slowly, Marian straightened up and turned back to Leandra again, her face very still. Not combative, not yet, at least, but just waiting.

"Your friend Varric helped me clear your schedule," Leandra said, feeling as if an explanation was in order.

"Of  _ course _ ," Marian said in an undertone, frowning. "That's why…hmm. What a sneak."

It was so similar to what Isabela had said.

"And he helped with the guest list," Leandra continued on. She didn't seem to outright  _ loathe  _ the idea, at least. "They'll be here in about an hour."

"Oh," Marian said.

"We can call it off," Leandra offered hurriedly; damn the work she had put in, if it wouldn't make Marian happy, it was simply pointless. "If you would rather—"

"No, no, I just…I don't know what to say." Marian looked at the dress on the bed, at her calendar, and back to Leandra. "We don't usually…I'm always…" She shook her head. "I'm very badly startled," she said with a small smile, regaining some of her humor. "Clearly."

"We  _ don't _ usually, and it's a shame. You've accomplished so much—look around you! And more is coming, I'm sure. You're  _ worth  _ celebrating." She'd regained her footing now, she felt. "You deserve a night of fun, a night with your friends."  _ With Isabela _ , she thought, though didn't say. The pirate hadn't sent in her RSVP, but perhaps that was not the pirate way. She hadn't said no, at least. "I'm sorry that I haven't been…a very good mother, these last few years."

Something in Marian's face creased; it looked a little like panic. "Mother—"

"No, listen to me. I have something worthwhile to say, for once. I haven't been fair to you, and I haven't known how to fix it. I thought that this might be a start." She took a breath. "I'm sorry. For so many things, but right now, I don't want you to think about that. I want you to enjoy your life. That  _ you  _ built, with your very capable hands. That's all."

Marian's features twisted, but she nodded, as if she didn't know what to say, or perhaps couldn't.

"And I have a gift for you."

She managed a laugh at that. "Besides all this? Besides the party, and everything?"

Leandra held out the necklace in her cupped hands. Marian stepped closer to look at it, her eyes softening.

"It was an heirloom," she said. "That went missing, when Gamlen lost the estate. Varric helped me track it down. I'd like you to have it."

"They're yours," Marian protested. "I couldn't—"

"I think Isabela would like them."

Marian's mouth snapped shut; her cheeks turned faintly red. It had been an awfully long time since Leandra had seen her blush.

"I know what you think," Leandra said softly, "I know that you think it's just a bit of fun, but—my darling girl—I don't see how anyone  _ couldn't  _ fall in love with you. Just give it a bit of time."

Marian managed a crooked smile. "Is that how father got you to come around? Patiently waiting?"

"More than you'd think. Now, get ready. Your guests will be here soon."

Before she could turn to leave, Marian had reached out and hugged her, hard. "Thank you, Mama," she whispered—an old childhood endearment, long lost until these last few weeks.

Leandra had made so many mistakes. She would set them all right, somehow. A little patience, a little work. It would turn out, in the end.

 

All of the guests had arrived.

Marian walked among them in her new, flowing, sky-blue gown; it brought out the piercing color of her eyes and contrasted sharply with her dark hair. The pearls strung around her throat gleamed in the low lamplight. She had a smile for everyone tonight, for her friends and acquaintances alike. There were many of them; dozens of people had been helped by Marian, had helped her in return. Kirkwall could be an unforgiving place, but Leandra's daughter had forged bonds of steel to stand against it.

She was proud. Prouder than she could ever have said without crying.

There was just one person missing, and she knew that Marian had noticed it, too. She kept glancing at the door, at the windows, as if still hoping she might appear, but the party had begun half an hour ago, musicians playing a lively tune in the corner, and Isabela had not arrived.

Leandra ducked into the kitchen to make sure that the food was coming along nicely, and when she returned to the room holding the party, the atmosphere had changed. What had been light and happy before was lively now; in the center of a crowd of dancers, Marian twirled someone around the floor, someone wearing a bright red coat and a dashing tricorn hat with an enormous feather sticking out of it.

Well. Her job here was done, then. She took the stairs up to her room, and at the top, she paused to watch a moment longer; they were laughing and talking while they danced, Marian's eyes crinkled at the corners.

Young people always did think they knew everything about heartache. She remembered.

 

It was late the next morning when Marian knocked and brought in a tea tray, piled with leftover cake. "I thought we could talk," she said, smiling as brightly as she'd ever smiled.

They whiled away the late morning like that. The cake was sweeter than Leandra remembered, and Marian got a peculiar gleam in her eyes when she looked at it.

They talked, but some things didn't need to be said.


End file.
